You Belong With Me
by UnattemptedFeat
Summary: "Do I belong at a crime scene?" John thought that was the stupidest question he'd ever heard.


**Author's Note: Hey, guys! Hope you are all doing well!**

 **Is it bad that I enjoy writing hurt/comfort so much? I just love anything with a protective Sherlock and/or John! I don't care if this makes me a bad person. Besides it's not like I would allow something truly despicable to happen. Nothing will ever be M rated, I promise.**

 **So without further ado... Thanks for reading!**

Elizabeth had just stepped outside to get some fresh air. The warehouse that held the very interesting corpse was very, very stuffy and hot. Elizabeth felt herself slowly suffocating as she watched her father make his deductions. When Sherlock started arguing with Anderson, Elizabeth couldn't take it anymore. She needed to breathe some air that wasn't so heavy.

Sighing in relief at the rush of crisp, cool air, Elizabeth instantly felt better.

"Can't take the dead bodies, kiddo?" Elizabeth turned to see Robbins, the coroner. He was leaning against his van, waiting to take the body to the morgue.

"No, I'm fine," Elizabeth smiled politely. "It was just getting really stuffy in there."

Robbins pushed off of his van and came to stand in front of Elizabeth. "Hey, you're the detective's daughter, right? The Holmes girl?"

Elizabeth nodded, "That's me. My name is Elizabeth."

"Well, Miss Elizabeth, aren't you a bit young to be at a crime scene?" Robbins' face took on an almost condescending look. "I mean, maybe you should leave the important work to the adults. How old are you anyways? Twelve?"

Elizabeth took an involuntary step back, "Mr. Robbins, did I do something...?"

Robbins scoffed, "You've done enough. By coming to our crime scenes and contaminating our evidence, you undermine our credibility. When the judges find out that a child was allowed to play with good evidence, our cases go out the window. You shouldn't be here. You don't belong."

Elizabeth knew that Robbins was lying. She had been personally thanked by many of the judges. But she couldn't shake the feeling that his words held some truth. He had voiced the insecurities that had plagued her for her whole life. Elizabeth had been told these things by many an angry officer and criminal, but they hadn't bothered her so much before.

"Robbins!"

Elizabeth quickly walked away before Lestrade could reach her.

John looked up when Lestrade came back in. John noticed that the DI's brow was creased with worry and frustration.

"What's wrong?" John asked. "Is Elizabeth alright?" Lestrade had gone out to check on her when the men had realized that she was no longer with them.

"What's happened?" Sherlock's head had snapped up at Elizabeth's name. He had gotten a little concerned when he had noticed that his daughter had left the warehouse. He hoped she wasn't ill; usually she had no problem being around a corpse.

"Robbins was talking to her outside," Lestrade told the worried men. "He must have said something because she left before I could talk to her."

"Who is Robbins?" Sherlock didn't recall the name.

Lestrade grimaced, "He's a coroner from Bristol. Thinks he owns the morgue. He was probably being an ass. I sent him packing, don't worry."

Sherlock turned to finish his deductions, but he found that he couldn't concentrate. He kept thinking about what Lestrade had told him. That Robbins man had said something to Elizabeth that made her leave without John and Sherlock. The concerned father resolved to find out exactly what that had been as soon as this case was solved.

John didn't wait that long. Seeing Sherlock turn back to the body, he left the scene. He hailed a cab and went back to Baker Street.

"Elizabeth?" John called when he'd entered the flat. "Where are you?"

"Living room," Elizabeth answered. John didn't detect any breaks in her voice.

She was sitting on the couch reading _Atlas Shrugged_. John settled into his armchair and looked at Elizabeth.

"Are you okay?" John asked gently. "Lestrade said that you left. What did that coroner say?"

"Nothing much," Elizabeth replied smoothly. But John could tell that something was bothering her.

"Elizabeth, whatever he said," John soothed. "It wasn't true. He's like Anderson. They're just jealous that they can't do what you can."

"Yeah," Elizabeth said. She closed her book. "Well, I think I'm going to turn in. Night, John."

"Goodnight, Elizabeth," John answered. He watched her go upstairs and heard her bedroom door close. It was only two in the afternoon.

He wished that she would have told him what was wrong. John knew that for Elizabeth to keep something from him, it meant that it was really bothering her.

At that moment, Sherlock came into the living room. He noticed John sitting in the chair and made his deductions.

"Elizabeth didn't tell you what he said," Sherlock stated. He flopped into the couch, sighing.

"No, best give her some time," John decided. "Maybe she'll feel like talking later. How was the murder?"

"Oh, boring," Sherlock replied. "Sister did it."

"Ah, of course," John nodded.

A few hours later, Elizabeth had not come back downstairs. John began to grow a little concerned, so he went up under the pretense of asking Elizabeth what she wanted for dinner. His heart sank when he found her in her room, staring off into space.

"Elizabeth?" John said quietly. He closed her door behind him, knowing she wouldn't want Sherlock to hear. "Are you alright? Do you want to talk now?"

Elizabeth scooted over in her bed, making enough room for John. Taking that gesture as a yes, John sat beside Elizabeth.

"Do I belong at crime scenes?"

John furrowed his eyebrows, gazing at Elizabeth. In his mind, that was the stupidest question anyone could ever ask. "Elizabeth, you shouldn't be anywhere else. Anyone who can't see that is just stupid. Yes, I am referring to Anderson, Donovan, and Robbins. I'll say it again: they're jealous."

"I don't know..." Elizabeth shook her head, unsure. "Maybe I shouldn't be doing this. I mess up the evidence because I'm underage. I should wait until I'm older."

"Elizabeth, what is making you think these things?" John asked, suddenly getting very worried. "You've always known that you belong on cases with Sherlock. Why are you questioning that now?"

Elizabeth closed her eyes, letting her head fall onto her arms. John put his hand on her shoulder, not knowing how best to help. He didn't like the pit that Elizabeth was burrowing into. She was closing up, just like he'd seen her father do so many times.

Right before Sherlock shot the wall. Or got injured because he did something stupid.

John needed assistance, and he needed it now.

"I'll be back," John gave Elizabeth one last assuring pat before going back downstairs.

John came to a stop in front of a thinking Sherlock. "Sherlock, I need you to help me talk to your daughter."

Sherlock opened his eyes and cringed, "Can you not handle this on your own?"

"Don't be afraid. It's just Elizabeth and feelings." Sherlock still looked mortified. "Sherlock, this is different than usual. Something is seriously wrong this time. She's started to say that she's too young to be at a crime scene."

"What on earth would give her that notion?" Sherlock exclaimed, shooting up from the sofa.

"I think Robbins was doing something like Anderson's spiel," John suggested.

"But she knows not to listen to that IQ-dropping speech," Sherlock said confidently.

"Something's wrong, Sherlock," John ran his hands through his blonde hair. "She usually laughs about this kind of thing, but right now she's up there just staring at nothing. Sherlock, I... I'm scared. She's like you get right before you go off and do something terrible and get hurt."

Suddenly the front door closed, causing both John and Sherlock to tense.

"Elizabeth!" Sherlock screamed, racing downstairs. He threw open the door, looking left and right down the street. John, who had followed him, stopped a passerby.

"Excuse me, sir," John asked a stout bloke in a jumper. "Did you happen to see a blonde girl running out of this flat a second ago?"

"No, sorry, mate." The man shrugged and kept walking.

John turned to Sherlock, who was typing furiously in his phone, "Sherlock, where would she go?"

"I just texted Mycroft and Lestrade," Sherlock glanced up at Hus blogger. His phone started ringing, and he answered it.

"Mycroft...No, she just left...Where is she?... You don't know!... You're supposed to be the British Government!... Don't tell me to calm down!" Sherlock hung up on his brother with a snarl. When his mobile rang again, Sherlock glared at it, then answered it quickly.

"Lestrade, tell me you know where she is... What?... What!?... Where is she now?... Lestrade, if my daughter is not safe, you will never see another paycheck!" Sherlock closed his phone again, just as angrily. He took off down the street.

"Sherlock!" John raced to catch up. "Sherlock, what's going on? Where is she?"

"The sister didn't do it!" Sherlock shouted, narrowly missing getting flattened by a taxi.

"What?" John put on a surge of speed to run beside Sherlock. "Explain, Sherlock, in English!"

"I was wrong!" Sherlock skidded around a corner. "I made two deductions at the scene today. Either the sister did it, or the ex-husband. I factored in the ex's alibi as truth, and I came to the incorrect conclusion! The ex was lying! Lestrade texted Elizabeth because he thought that I would be belligerent. Lestrade told her to wait for him, but she didn't! She went to confront the ex on her own!"

Now fully realizing the extent of the danger, John ran even harder.

Sherlock flew around another corner and onto the street where the ex lived. The sight he saw made his adrenaline spike again.

Elizabeth and the ex, Martin Sanders, were both standing on the sidewalk. Sanders was pointing a gun at Elizabeth, who had her hands up in surrender. The street was devoid of any other people.

"Don't come any closer!" Sanders yelled. Sherlock and John skidded to a halt, both ready to do anything to keep Elizabeth safe. Elizabeth herself whirled her head around, her face falling when she saw her father and John.

"Let her go, Sanders," Sherlock demanded, taking the smallest step forward. He went to take another one, but he stopped when he saw Sanders' hand tense on the gun. Sherlock was about five feet from being able to reach his daughter.

"You know I can't do that, Holmes," Sanders seemed almost apologetic. "I'm sorry, I truly am. She was a wonderful girl."

He pulled the trigger.

Sherlock was diving for Elizabeth as the last word left Sanders' mouth. He tackled her to the ground, shielding her with his own body. His arms tightened around her when he heard another gunshot.

"Sherlock, I got him," John said. "Are you guys okay?"

"Elizabeth?" Sherlock let her go and took her hands, pulling her up with him. "Are you alright?" He quickly looked her up and down, assuring himself that she was unhurt.

"I'm fine," Elizabeth said, brushing herself off.

Lestrade chose that moment to come running up the street.

"Sherlock! Elizabeth! John!" Lestrade panted.

"A little late, I think, Inspector," Sherlock remarked. Lestrade's eyes widened as he took in the dead man on the ground. "John, would you mind staying and sorting this out? You shot the man after all. Come along, Elizabeth."

Sherlock led his daughter back to their flat. Neither of them said a word the whole way. When they got back, Elizabeth went to the living room and sat on the couch, knowing she was about to get it."

Sherlock began to pace in front of the couch. "Don't _ever_ go off on your own like that again! You could have been killed! What possessed you so that you would not wait for Lestrade?"

"I'm sorry," Elizabeth apologized. "I didn't think. I just wanted to bring Sanders to justice."

Sherlock took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself, "No matter how pure your intentions, you cannot go off on your own. I don't want you to get hurt!"

"I knew I couldn't do this," Elizabeth muttered, clearly not meaning for her father to hear. She launched herself off the couch and started for her room.

Sherlock caught her arm, "What did you say?" Elizabeth clenched her jaw. "Elizabeth?"

"I said that I knew I couldn't do this!" Elizabeth cried bitterly. She tried to break away from her father, but she couldn't. Sherlock pulled her closer, embracing her tightly.

"Elizabeth, listen to me. It does not matter what those idiots say. All that matters is what you know. And I'll tell you something. Do you think that I would let you accompany me on dangerous cases if I didn't think you belonged with me? I have complete trust and faith in you. Don't ever doubt that."

When John finally returned to Baker Street, he couldn't have imagined a happier ending to their hectic day. Father and daughter were sitting on the couch together, both shouting at Criminal Minds on telly. John sat down to watch too, laughing at the Holmes' commentary.

"What? No!" Sherlock argued. "That is not the murderer! How could they miss the mud on the victim's shoes?"


End file.
